Careless
by irishileana
Summary: Blaise Zabini is attractive, rich, and arrogant. Truthfully, it would take little effort to have any girl at Hogwarts, but none is worthy of his time. Eddie Carmichael, however, is a different story. Rated M for slash, sexual scenes, and language.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own it.

* * *

Edward Matthew Carmichael hated his name. He didn't feel like an Edward, and he couldn't go by his middle name (like one Haakon Andrew Kirke) because he felt even less like a Matthew. The day before his first at Hogwarts, Edward rechristened himself "Eddie." It was a name he settled for because sometimes he felt like an Eddie, and sometimes he did not.

Today, he felt like an Eddie. He felt like spending quality time with Peeves, like ignoring all of his homework, like snogging every boy he ran into and having a dip in the lake. It was this last idea that tugged at him the most today, on an unseasonably, unendingly hot September afternoon. It was the first warm day England had encountered since the return of the wizard whose name alone put chills in the heart of Eddie, his family and, it seemed, Mother Nature.

Pushing the doors out to the stifling sunshine, Eddie observed the few students who had dared to step outside. A gaggle of giggling girls lay stretched out on the grass, hoping to obtain something resembling a tan. As Eddie approached, their whispers increased with significance. He gave them a brilliant grin, reducing them to nothing beyond hysterical laughter, and went on his way. He acknowledged to himself that the third-years were really coming into their own pretty selves, but they didn't promise the kind of fun for which he searched today. Of course, they rarely did.

Though the sun beat hard on his skin, Eddie walked with confidence and purpose through the soupy air until a solitary breeze brought the scent and cooling spray of the lake across his body. With these luxuries came the sight of Blaise Zabini in nothing but a pair of swimming trunks, perched on a tree and preparing to dive headfirst into the deep, black waters.

In his present state, this could be possibly the worst sight for Eddie (although in many ways it was the best sight for Eddie ever). He was not unfamiliar with Blaise Zabini, a beautiful Slytherin with velvety dark skin and slanted, sneering eyes. The stoic and admittedly arrogant sixth-year had been in Eddie's mind for quite some time now. Because of Eddie's current disposition, it was nearly impossible _not_ to pounce on Blaise, his body strong and sinewy, his brow beaded with sweat, a look of peaceful determination on his face. But Blaise was the one person Eddie should not approach today. Eddie knew that Blaise was conservative, vain, and close-minded. He also knew that Blaise was gay. Mostly, Eddie knew that he wanted to act quickly, but that doing so would scare away his prey. It would take time to deconstruct the barriers surrounding Blaise Zabini's inner self, and so it was with patience that Eddie, forgetting his original plan, knelt behind a cluster of trees and watched Blaise make his first jump.

_Blaise._ Eddie tasted the name in his mind, liking it. Loving it. It was far too beautiful and sophisticated for himself, but it suited the boy before him perfectly.

* * *

It was the first impact that made swimming so powerful.

The crash against the water started from the tips of his fingers and in nothing more than a second (yet taking nothing less than eternity) stretched across his entire body. The water's skin had been warmed by sunlight, but as Blaise made his way into the murky depths it was as though he were shrouded in ice. He relished the delicious chills through his body as the hairs on his arms and legs pricked up in earnest. His heartbeat raced, protesting, but he didn't care. In the water, Blaise's mind found a peace that he had never experienced on land, because in the immeasurable moment it took for him to touch the lake, he was allowed without judgement to be alone. It was true that grindylows, merpeople, and the Giant Squid also inhabited this space, but in the end it was Blaise's world only, and this was precisely what Blaise liked best.

Blaise returned to the surface, his body straining to handle the drastic changes in temperature. He turned his face to the sky and floated on his back, closing his eyes against the blue. As he drifted slowly about the lake, he considered the past week, his first week as a sixth-year. Already, Blaise was bored at Hogwarts. The school was just as uninteresting as it had been in the previous year—perhaps even more so, without OWLs to worry about. His inclusion in the Slug Club—a name that made Blaise cringe even now—was not so much exciting as expected. Considering that _Neville Longbottom _had been invited, Blaise hardly felt honoured.

He was beginning to detest the familiar faces about him. No one Blaise knew was interesting, and the people he didn't know were sure to be just as dull. Malfoy certainly thought he was a remarkable creature, but Blaise didn't believe for a second that the ferrety twat had truly been made a Death Eater. It was possible that Blaise simply hadn't given the year enough of a chance, but it was just easier to resign oneself to endless boredom than it was to actually expect things from school.

It was really getting difficult for Blaise to care about anything at all.

After swimming aimlessly for another fifteen minutes (_aimless_ . . . what a perfect word to describe life right now), Blaise reluctantly dragged himself from the lake. As he pulled a towel around his waist, he thought he heard a rustle in the nearby trees. It couldn't possibly be the wind; the breezes today were sparse and weak. Blaise carefully examined the area around him but could not find even a footprint in the hard, beaten dirt.

This should have piqued Blaise's interest. But he dismissed the noise, not caring if he'd imagined it or not, and walked back to the school. Not caring about anything, the sun warming his skin once more.

* * *

**A/N: **Dedicated to **funnieduckie**, since I promised this _forever_ ago.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I continue to not own this.

**A/N: **I edited the first chapter! You might want to read it again, at least as a refresher. Suffice it to say that I haven't updated in a _long_ time.

Thanks to this chapter, I had to change the rating of this fic (even if it's not _really_ that "mature" right now, I know it can only get smuttier as I go along). I must say that I always disapproved of people writing R-rated pieces when they're not even allowed to read R-rated pieces. Can we just count this as NC-17?

The funny part is that I wrote this during English class. Not as an assignment, though.  
Obviously.

* * *

The sensation of the foot slipping under Blaise's robes could be described only as distracting.

Fighting his immediate frustration, Blaise turned his gaze away from the beetle blood he was attempting to measure and fixed it on the sultry stare of one Daphne Greengrass. Or, well, perhaps sultry wasn't the appropriate word. At a second glance, Daphne seemed more impatient—bored, even—than anything. Still, whatever the emotion, the message was fairly clear. Blaise checked his watch.

"Merlin, Daphne. We have about five minutes left of class—that is if you can calm down long enough for me to actually finish this potion. Don't get your knickers in a twist."

Daphne chuckled. "I won't. Not wearing any," she announced. Her brazen voice carried to the ears of Ernie MacMillan, who had clearly heard the entire exchange and turned a brilliant shade of red. Daphne sniggered. "I was having a diddle and thought of you, Ern."

Blaise rolled his eyes as he watched MacMillan knock his potion all over his robes. As the eavesdropping git tried to siphon the potion away (managing somehow to set fire to himself instead), Blaise looked straight at Daphne. He was momentarily sidetracked by how lovely her eyes were. Daphne was reasonably attractive, but her sleek brown hair and curvaceous figure weren't nearly as entrancing as her eyes, smooth as velvet and the exact colour of his skin. A set of thick, dark lashes framed them, giving them an exotic and passionate quality. Blaise shook his head to organize his thoughts. When he returned his gaze to her, however, her eyes had crinkled to match the smirk of her mouth.

"Lost in my eyes again, pretty boy?"

So Blaise had no choice but to glare menacingly at her before returning to "their" potion (although in his mind the element of teamwork was lacking somewhat). This was probably a good idea as it was now boiling over the cauldron. Blaise spent the rest of the class attempting to salvage it, eventually handing a rather foamy sample to Professor Slughorn that would probably scrape an Acceptable, or at least a Poor. During that time, Daphne turned out to be especially helpful, pushing his (incredibly short) hair "out of your eyes" before draping her hand over his shoulder. Her other hand was situated in a less convenient area.

In spite of everything, the two-person party managed to leave class on time for lunch. Daphne expressed her hunger by dragging Blaise into a broom closet and jerking his mouth toward hers.

It was not an unfamiliar situation; their school robes lay in a heap by their feet in seconds. With one arm circling his shoulders, Daphne reached her other arm around his waist, pulling their bodies flush against each other as he tasted her neck and swiftly removed her bra. A mess of hands, a stream of kisses, and he was inside her, supporting her against the door. Daphne moaned, panted, gasped as he pushed against her supple body. He fought waves of pleasure, determined to outlast her. Finally, he felt the time-honored dig of her fingernails in his back and allowed himself to release. They collapsed simultaneously to the floor, their bodies twisted awkwardly in the cramped space. A moment's rest, a moment of illusion before they returned to harsh reality.

Blaise gazed blearily at Daphne, her soft face gently flushed. Her eyes were beautiful, even when closed. But she opened them in no time to fix a devastating glower on him. "You're sitting on my shirt."

"Sorry." As Blaise stood to retrieve his trousers, he considered the fact that there was probably more out there than this.

He didn't dwell upon it. Relationships were messy. No one could live up to his or her partner's expectations, particularly if that partner happened to be Blaise. In fact, it was surprising that Blaise had managed to find someone he deemed worthy of taking part in the kind of activities he executed with Daphne. Daphne was a pureblooded Slytherin with a decent figure, a rough attitude, and experience. Most importantly, she didn't want a relationship either. If it weren't for those insufferable eyes, which gave her too much power for his liking, she would be perfect.

Her imperfection aggravated him.

* * *

"You would think that after six years you two might be capable of actually finding your way around the castle."

The sex was the same, the food was the same, and Pansy Parkinson had just managed to prove that the inane comments were the same. Blaise fought the urge to roll his eyes as he glanced up at Pansy's smug expression. She, like everyone else in the present company (Millicent Bulstrode, Draco's gang, Blaise, Daphne, and Pansy herself), knew exactly why he and Daphne had arrived late for lunch. It wasn't exactly a rare occurrence, after all.

"Yeah," said Daphne, sounding about as amused as Blaise felt. "But, you know, Hogwarts is full of secrets."

The conversation continued in the same dry, familiar manner, and Blaise had no trouble tuning it out with his own thoughts. Unfortunately, he admitted silently to a spoonful of soup, his thoughts weren't that interesting either. _When _would something happen to break past the impermeable wall of monotony that had taken over his mind? He scrutinized the few students who remained in the hall, chattering mindlessly of coursework and teachers or immersed in deep conversation about Death Eaters and the Dark Lord. At this point, Blaise could have easily embraced a Death Eater attack. It would at least be a change in routine.

As his gaze passed over the Ravenclaw table, it was annexed momentarily due to sudden eye contact with a boy who Blaise assumed was in his seventh year. Blaise rarely associated with those outside his own house, and although they had probably crossed paths, the boy to him was a complete stranger. Yet their eyes locked for a few moments longer than was customary, and Blaise wondered if the boy had been watching him.

"Oi! Blaise! Time to goooooo!" Pansy's shrill tones, accompanied with a smack on Blaise's head, finally managed to interrupt his private musings. "Don't you have Arithmancy or something?"

"Right." It was time to focus on numbers. They held no challenge or excitement, but he would give his attention to them nonetheless. He would live his next few hours analysing digits as meaningless as a shag in a closet or a passing glance during lunch.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Blaise has a potty mouth.

* * *

For a woman who cared about very little besides getting pissed and getting off, Daphne was remarkably organized, and it showed in her curt penmanship. The narrow, even script of Daphne's name seemed almost strict, contrasting deeply with the messy scrawl of names above it. In fact, Blaise was struck with the sudden feeling that Daphne's signature was glaring at him from its perch on the common room's bulletin board.

"No." Daphne's handwriting may have been stern, but it wasn't enough to make him change his mind. "You have got to be kidding me. _Charms Club?_ You seriously expect me to waste my time casting naff spells that as a whole accomplish fuck all in the real world? Why the hell would I want to do that? Why the hell would _you_ want to do that?"

Daphne put on an all-too-familiar pout. "Because school is really fucking boring and I need something to do so I don't die of monotony. Besides, since when are you concerned about the amount of time you have on your hands?"

"Since you tried to get me to join fucking Charms Club," Blaise snapped. "You can easily sign up without me."

"But then who would make fun of all the crap spells the little firsties try to cast? That's the only reason this thing is worth doing, after all."

"There's always Tracey or Pansy," said Blaise, although he knew that Daphne didn't really get on with her female 'friends,' and her nose wrinkled the minute he mentioned them. He couldn't really blame her; the Slytherin girls as a whole had some offensively grating voices. More importantly, they were quite clear in their disapproval of Daphne's sex life. Her ample curves and pouty lips were enough to attract the disgust of self-righteous girls, but when one added on the fact that Daphne was casually shagging Blaise in a closet every day, it was unfortunately expected for her to be hated by practically everyone at Hogwarts.

One would think that Slytherins, known for their delight in breaking rules and having fun, would be comfortable with a little bit of in and out. Yet Blaise saw the condemnatory scowls whenever Daphne arrived late for anything—even when she _hadn't_ been off boinking. And speaking of boinking . . .

"Come on, Blaise. I'll be sure to keep you entertained." Their eyes locked.

Blaise knew he had been beaten. He pretended his loss of resolve was caused by Daphne's hand, which had wandered not-so-subtly into his back pocket, but in truth it had more to do with her eyes on his. They were so unbelievably captivating, so earnest, and Blaise found himself once again inexplicably powerless to their authority. Damn.

"Fine," he muttered. "I suppose it's marginally better than ripping off my eyelids for lack of anything more interesting to do. But you owe me, Greengrass."

She gave his arse a squeeze as he added his name to the list. His writing was neat and tidy, putting all the signatures to shame . . . except Daphne's. Yet another thing that made her _almost_ perfect.

* * *

Although Blaise technically had written commitment to the club, it was still with great resistance that he allowed Daphne to pull him into Flitwick's classroom the following Thursday. His mood was not improved as he observed the scrawny group of students, who had already begun to take their seats. Instead of being placed in the usual linear style, the chairs were arranged in a circle around the room, and there was not a desk to be found anywhere. Blaise sat, scowling, in a chair surrounded by empty seats. Daphne sat down beside him.

"I never thought the word 'loser' would ever be so appropriate," Blaise muttered. "This is almost terrifyingly geeky."

"I know. But think about it this way: we are hands-down the coolest people here," Daphne said with a self-assured smile.

"Come off it. As if we need a room of tossers to seem cool."

"Well, _I_ don't, but I think you might want to brush up on your—"

At that moment, Professor Flitwick emerged from his office. As his gaze rested upon Blaise and Daphne, his face registered mild surprise. The non-couple were the only Slytherins in the room so far, and Blaise had a feeling they were the only Slytherins who had ever actually set foot in Charms Club. Generally speaking, extracirriculars (other than, of course, playing Quidditch) were looked down upon by members of their house.

In any case, the expression on the professor's face soon changed to a pleasant smile. "Welcome, welcome everyone!" he squeaked. "I am just delighted to see so many of you back here from last year, and so many fresh new faces, too!"

Many of the students returned Flitwick's smile, some cautiously and some with genuine enthusiasm. To Blaise's surprise, Daphne was beaming. It wasn't like her to smile like that, with no trace of irony or desire. What was she playing at?

Flitwick continued, "Since we do have some new students, how about we go around the circle and introduce ourselves? Just your name, please. You don't need to give us an interesting fact about yourself."

Thank Merlin.

It was, in Blaise's mind, a pathetic congregation. One by one, the group offered up names: Kevin Entwhistle, Laura Madley, Rose Zeller, Su Li, Padma Patil, Vicky Frobisher, Owen Cauldwell, Michael Corner, and Euan Abercrombie. Blaise was well-acquainted with exactly none of them and had no intention of growing any closer. He announced himself clearly but without a smile, in sharp contrast to the strangely bubbly girl beside him. _Why _was she still grinning like that?

"And I am Professor Filius Flitwick, at your service!" The teacher gave a sweeping bow that caused his forehead to touch the floor. "But I suppose you all knew that." _Did Daphne actually chuckle at that ridiculous excuse for a joke?_

Blaise tuned Flitwick's welcoming chatter out as he pondered Daphne's bizarre behaviour. She actually seemed to enjoy her time here and in fact had barely mocked any of the session's activities so far. The display of genuine enthusiasm was, frankly, quite startling, and though he couldn't put his finger on exactly why, it bothered him a great deal.

"Now, I know that most of you from last year already know how we do things here, but since we have—"

"Sorry I'm late, Professor. I, er, got caught up on my way down here."

Blaise, like everyone else in the room, turned to face the door (this was admittedly complicated for Blaise specifically, since his chair was facing the exact opposite direction). The interruption came from a vaguely familiar boy, a tall Ravenclaw whose dirty-blonde hair was in desperate need of a cut. It was, Blaise remembered suddenly, the same boy whose eyes he had randomly met during one not-so-distant breakfast. That . . . was not that interesting, if he was going to be perfectly honest with himself.

"That's quite all right, Eddie." Flitwick's smile, impossibly, widened. "Just sit down and introduce yourself, and I'll get on with what I was saying."

"Thanks, sir," said the boy, taking the only blessed seat separating Blaise from the group, "but you've already said my name. One of them, anyway. I'm Eddie Carmichael."


End file.
